


Supplicant

by blithelybonny



Series: You Are the One [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftercare, Dom/sub, Ice Play, M/M, Nipple Play, Orgasm Control, dom!draco, sub!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 12:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1648952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blithelybonny/pseuds/blithelybonny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco is searching for something that he doesn't think he'll ever find, but Harry brings him closer and closer each day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Supplicant

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a prequel to "Mister Potter," or I suppose rather takes place before that, without being a direct prequel.

“How did it feel?”

The question catches Draco off guard, as Harry’s fingers graze the Mark, tracing the outlines and raising gooseflesh in their wake.

He is caught because the question is _How did it feel?_ , not _Did it hurt?_ Draco wonders if Harry phrased his question the way he did because he suspects the truth.

Draco cannot possibly describe the exquisite agony he felt when the Dark Lord burned his Mark into Draco’s flesh. The intense fire under his skin as the tattoo formed itself there, black as ink and slightly raised, created a scar, but more than that, created a heat, a burning arousal low in Draco’s belly. He looked up into his then-Master’s eyes and, with no fear and no regret, said _yes, I will serve_. He came harder than he’d ever come before with another person, and there was no shame, even as he felt the eyes of the other Death Eaters, his parents, the Mudbloods and Muggles who had been captured, on his every move, every spasm, every jolt of heat that wended through his body.

He looked up into his then-Master’s eyes and felt nothing but _love_.

It sickens Draco to recall it now -- the twisted adoration that made him fall at the Dark Lord’s feet, gasping and panting out his release. The Dark Lord brought him back to his feet, tugged him by the chin, and then slid his bone-white fingers through Draco’s sweat-slickened hair. _My beautiful boy,_ he’d said, _my beautiful servant._

It wasn’t until much later, of course, that the shine came off the apple. When the reality of what it meant to be a Death Eater caught up to Draco, and his tasks became unbearable, the memory of that one perfect moment of pleasure-pain was not enough to help him sustain. The veil dropped from his eyes, and he saw cruelty for cruelty’s sake. There was no power or strength in the Dark Lord. He was just a man, and there would always be another man standing in the shadows waiting to take his place. 

“It felt,” Draco says, as he carefully lifts Harry’s fingers to his lips for the ghost of a kiss, “like dying.”

\-- --- --- --

It has been four years, seventeen days, and thirteen hours since Draco began chasing the pleasure-pain with which the Dark Lord gifted him.

But it feels simultaneously like forever and no time at all to have gone from wanting Harry Potter on a base, visceral level to _having_ him, spread beneath Draco’s searching fingers, breath hitching in his throat as he whimpers softly against the velvet gag in his mouth.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Draco says, and he keeps his touch feather-light, ghosting along the pale expanse of Harry’s chest and tracing over the marks and scars that make him so distinctly the Boy Who Lived.

But Draco doesn’t think of Harry that way anymore. Harry is no longer the legend or the rival or even the savior. Harry is just _his_ , and the knowledge that Harry gives himself to Draco willingly, allows Draco to pull him down into subspace and bring him to the heights of ecstasy, brings Draco closer and closer to that first exquisite agony.

“You’re the one, you know,” says Draco. He pinches Harry’s right nipple, rolls the sensitive bud between his fingers, and thrills at the muffled moan Harry lets escape. “It’s always been you.”

Harry arches beneath Draco’s touch. His green eyes are bright, and Draco decides that he needs to cool things down if he wants Harry to last. “ _Glacius_ ,” he mutters, Conjuring an ice cube. With a smile, he lowers it to Harry’s chest and slides it in a slow circle around Harry’s raised nipple.

“Oh fuck, Draco!” Harry cries out, his words muffled by the gag, and Draco’s cock twitches in his trousers.

Draco smirks and tosses the ice cube to the side. He leans over Harry’s chest and blows out a breath against Harry’s fevered skin before pinching Harry’s nipple again. “Did you hear what I said before?”

“Y--ye--yes!” Harry moans and thrashes, as Draco skims his hands over Harry’s skin, barely touching him. “Oh God, Draco, please, please!”

“I said that you were the one,” Draco repeats. He gets up and straddles Harry’s prone form, carefully but firmly pinning Harry to the bed. He picks up the discarded ice cube again and begins to trace it onto Harry’s chest. “What am I spelling here?”

“I don’t … ah! I don’t know!” Harry whines, trying to buck his hips against Draco, but Draco uses his knees to subdue.

“Concentrate. Tell me what I’m writing,” he commands, his voice even and low, though his heart rate speeds up. He can feel the trapped heat of Harry’s cock straining against his own, through his trousers.

“Mmmmph, Draco, please!”

Draco lifts the ice cube, lets it dangle until a few drops, like rain, fall onto Harry’s chest. The ice against Harry’s hot skin has written out a word in bright red stripes of skin. Draco leans forward and ghosts his breath over Harry’s nipple. “Tell me what I’ve written, and then perhaps I’ll let you come,” he says. He rolls his hips and a strangled noise that Draco knows has nothing to do with the gag escapes Harry’s throat. Harry’s eyes roll back, fluttering wildly, as Draco rolls his hips again, pressing hard against Harry’s cock. “Tell me what I wrote, and I’ll give you _everything_.”

Harry groans and then surges upward, arching, as Draco grinds his cock against Harry’s. Then, with a flick of Draco’s wand, the gag disappears and Harry shouts, “MINE! Mine, mine, miiiiine.”

Draco grins. “Come for me, _Harry_.”

\-- --- --- --

Draco slides his fingers into Harry’s sweat-slickened hair, shushing and soothing him, as he trembles. “You did so well,” Draco whispers. “You’re such a good boy.”

“Th-thank you, Draco,” Harry replies and curls in further. “I … I love you.” A tremor wracks Draco at that, and Harry looks up, confused. “Are you alright? Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Draco insists, tugging Harry closer and tightening his embrace. “No, you said …” he swallows hard against the lump in his throat, “you said something absolutely right.”

Draco doesn’t know if he’ll ever find the simultaneous agony and ecstasy of perfect supplication, but he knows that if anyone will ever understand, it’s Harry. Harry, who loves him, and whom he loves.


End file.
